Love Covers All Sins
by KCS
Summary: After the events of DYIN, Holmes finds out the hard way that he cannot always take certain things for granted.
1. Watson's POV

_**Love Covereth All Sins**_

**Proverbs 10:12**_ "Hatred stirreth up strifes, but_ love covereth all sins_."_

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"Good heavens!" cried Holmes. "I had totally forgotten him. My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. To think that I should have overlooked you! I need not introduce you to Mr. Culverton Smith, since I understand that you met somewhat earlier in the evening."_

_-The Adventure of the Dying Detective

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Those words were still ringing in my ears even as the door shut behind the police and that formidable, malicious man named Culverton Smith. I could hear the villain's furious howling even as the group exited our flat into the street, a sound that ran a chill through every fibre of my soul at the awful thought of what might have been.

However, my head was still whirling, not from the knowledge that Smith was a murderer, but from those two sentences, uttered from my friend Sherlock Holmes in that careless, almost flippant tone of voice he was wont to use when so excited about one of his cases. _"My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. To think that I should have overlooked you!"_

His first words to me after putting me through a veritable living hell for the last eight hours.

After insulting my professional abilities, putting me through the heart-wrenching belief that he was dying, making me fetch Culverton Smith and being forced to listen to the man gloat over (I thought) murdering my dearest friend, and then having the nerve to forget I had even been witness to the final confession, and – the unkindest cut of all – saying he had no faith in me.

_"If I am to be forced to have a doctor, at least let me have someone in whom I have some __**confidence!**__" _Words fail me to describe the deep wound he had given me in that exchange - had it really only been a few hours previously? That had cut deeply, more deeply than the fact that he did not trust me enough to tell me the truth about Smith before now.

For years I had always accepted his unorthodox methods with little or no questions, the man's value as a friend and companion much outweighing any inconveniences he caused me with his ways. I listened and tolerated; such were my roles in our relationship, and I was completely happy to rest in the knowledge that I was the only man Holmes would even open his life slightly to include.

Odd chemical experiments and noxious odors filling the house, violin solos at all hours of the night, leaving such clutter on our sitting room floor that it would throw Mrs. Hudson into violent hysterics, tweaking me incessantly about my scribbling, dragging me out of bed at ungodly hours of the day or night to rush off on another chapter of what he liked to call "the game," all were part and parcel of the thing – the privilege of being the closest, perhaps the only, friend to the world's most foremost reasoner of our day.

But this, this was not another chapter in "the game." This was no simple experiment gone wrong, no offensive hobby of his that annoyed me at frequent intervals. And his promised thousand apologies would have availed him nothing had he even attempted to offer them at that moment.

With the shutting of the front door, my intense relief at finding Holmes's illness to be a mere ruse in this dangerous game he was playing turned to a deep, wholehearted, burning indignation. And as he turned to me, rubbing his hands together with that gleeful smirk on his face, the last vestiges of my shattered control fled me.

"Well, Watson!" he said with not even a trace, I was angered to note, of remorse or penitence. "It came off rather nicely, don't you agree?"

My last ounce of composure withered away at that flippant tone, and all the unsaid and undealt-with emotions of that frightful day came crashing down across my barriers to be unleashed on the unsuspecting detective.

"How **DARE** you, Holmes?" I exploded with more vehemence than I had ever shown in that nine years of our association.

His glee almost visibly evaporated on the instant, and he stared at me in some surprise.

"How dare you?" I repeated heatedly, not knowing what I was going to say and, quite honestly, not caring. "You stand there as if you had just merely made a normal arrest in our sitting room and act as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened in the last eight hours! How can you?"

"Watson, for heaven's sake, my dear fellow –"

"Don't you _dear fellow_ me, Holmes!" _That_ arrested his attention, and he took a tentative step backward at the sight of my undisguised anger.

"Watson, I –"

"You what? You _what_, Holmes? If you intend to say that you are sorry, do not take the trouble, because I have been lied to enough today already!" I cursed under my breath when my voice shook on the last syllable. Hoping he had not noticed, I went on in my tirade.

"I was _going_ to ask if you would be so generous as to allow me to explain my very good reasons!" he snapped, and I took an evil pleasure to see some color rising into his pale, emaciated face.

"What reasons, Holmes? Are you even able to explain why you decided to let me think you were dying? Explain the reason why you thought it would be a good idea to leave me in the dark until the criminal himself were caught? Explain why you have lost all faith in me and why you no longer trust me?"

He started visibly. "What gave you that idea, Wats –"

"What gave me that idea?" my voice had risen with my temper and he winced from my near-shouting. "How you can stand there and ask that is undoubtedly the most pompous, arrogant, conceited – "

"Now, look here, Watson!"

"I'm not finished with you yet, Holmes!" I said angrily, "You are the most conceited, self-centred individual I have ever met in my life! You seem to think that because you have special powers, that that gives you the right to use anything and everything to get you what you want! It is all just a part of the game to you, isn't it?"

Holmes was trying to say something, but I hurried on, the words falling from my mouth before I could think of what I was saying.

"You think that the entire world is at your disposal to use at will to accomplish your own ends! The police, Mrs. Hudson, and even I – we are all mere tools that you can use at your pleasure to allow you to win the game! Well someday, Sherlock Holmes, you're going to realize that there are more important things in this life than your precious cases! There is more to life than always being the victor in some lovely little mental challenge, and if you weren't such a pathetic, empty, selfish - _machine_, you would know it takes no great deductions to see that!" I stopped, horrified at what I had just said.

Holmes's red face had suddenly gone frighteningly pale.

"Get _out_," he snarled, his features contorted with a sudden flash of anger.

"I shall, with pleasure!" I shot back, my hurt at his tone paling in comparison to the ones already inflicted upon me today. "And the next time you need an errand boy, I hope you are able to find one in whom you have _'some confidence'_! Good evening!"

I slammed the door behind me with unnecessary force and stomped down the seventeen steps to the floor below, my whole frame shaking from the effects of my unusually violent anger and the realization of the horrible things I had just said.

At the foot of the stairs, I put my arm against the wall and laid my forehead on it, trying to pull myself under some control before I left the house.

So distraught was I that I did not see or hear our landlady coming up to stand beside me until she gently laid a hand on my arm, making me start in surprise.

"Doctor?"

"I apologise for the shouting, Mrs. Hudson. I fervently hope you did not hear all that." _It is not as if she could help hearing it, the way you were carrying on,_ I thought miserably.

The good lady's face showed kind sympathy as she patted my arm. Poor woman, she had heard many tense moments between Holmes and myself over the years, but none like this one. "Sir, I take it that Mr. Holmes is not as ill as we had feared?"

"No, Mrs. Hudson," I said, and a small part of my anger dissipated when I saw the unashamed tears of relief well up in her eyes. "He is in no danger. Other than that of my killing him for what he did today!"

"Oh, Doctor," she said softly, gesturing to my coat questioningly.

"No, I cannot stay here another moment, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you, and I am sorry for what you have gone through." My words came out more curtly than I had intended, due to my difficulty in trying to hide my deep, frustrated anger from the woman.

She nodded, understanding as always. "Let me call you a cab, Doctor. The rain and fog are terrible just now."

"No. I shall walk."

"But, Doctor!"

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson, but no. Good evening."

With a sigh, she opened the door for me and saw me exit. Some of my emotions were instantly squelched by the deluge outside, in which I was loathe to walk all the way back to my home in Kensington, and I felt another little bit of my anger seep away with the rain. I turned back to the door of 221b.

"Mrs. Hudson?" I called over the sounds of the rain.

"Yes, sir?"

"Make sure that Mr. Holmes eats something, will you? He says he has not in three days, and he looks it. Something light at first like soup, then gradually work him into something a little more substantial. And try to keep him off the smoking until he starts eating properly."

The good lady's face broke into a small smile. "I shall, Doctor," she promised.

"Good," I replied curtly, stalking away through the pouring rain in the direction of my home and consulting rooms.

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**TBC - Holmes's POV. Please review!**


	2. Holmes's POV

_**Love Covereth All Sins**_

_Need I say, I only own the Bible verse. And maybe Mrs. Hudson's personality._

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BTW - This is for **Protector of the Gray Fortress** - I skipped a study hour to post, so you'd better review:)

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Proverbs 10:12 _"Hatred stirreth up strifes, but_ love covereth all sins_."_

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_"Good heavens!" cried Holmes. "I had totally forgotten him. My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. To think that I should have overlooked you! I need not introduce you to Mr. Culverton Smith, since I understand that you met somewhat earlier in the evening."_

_-The Adventure of the Dying Detective

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Watson had slammed the door of our (my, now, since he had deserted me for a wife) sitting room with such force that the echo still seemed to reverberate in the room, further jarring my already fractured nerves.

Scowling darkly, I flung myself down in my chair by the fire, glowering at the cheery coals in the hearth. Their bright glow only served to further annoy me. I was angry - coldly, completely, justifiably (I thought) angry.

I am a man of few emotions, and anger normally is not among them. But hearing such accusations from Watson, delivered with such ferocity, had shaken down my barriers against feelings; and, weakened with the strain of the past three days, they had finally crumbled at the close of our interview. I slumped down in my chair and put my aching head in my hands.

_"Explain why you have lost all faith in me and why you no longer trust me!"_ Watson's accusation, infused with either anger or hurt, I could not tell which, flashed into my mind over and over again. How could he think such a thing?

_"If I am to be forced to have a doctor, let it at least be someone in whom I have some confidence!"_ My conscience shot the words across my mind as if in response to my question.

I winced, remembering the shocked pain on his face when I had said them the first time. I frowned. What else had I said in those moments when I was desperately trying to keep him from coming near me, from discovering the truth? The whole painful day was somewhat of a blur – what exactly had I done to warrant such a reaction from my one true friend?

I would trust Watson with my life – I have done so, literally, on several occasions. I have never doubted the man's courage and loyalty, the depth of which continues to astonish me at times.

Why was this time any different from any other case in which my theatrics had gotten rather carried away? What had I done this time that his absolute loyalty would not excuse?

I was interrupted in my musing by my landlady entering the room. I scowled at her blackly, wanting to remain alone with my thoughts, but she pointedly ignored my glares and set the tray she carried down on the table.

"Mr. Holmes. You will kindly come over here this instant and eat this," she ordered in a tone that brooked no argument.

I was going to protest just on general principle, but my stomach growled at the smell of whatever the soup was in the tureen. I swallowed my pride, for the moment at least, and sat heavily down in my chair.

I barely noticed the woman filling my soup plate with the mixture, so lost was I in my own thoughts. Now that some, at least, of my anger had dissipated and I was beginning to think lucidly once more, I was at a loss what to do about Watson.

"The Doctor ordered me to make you eat, Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson's voice broke through my troubled thoughts, "and I will stay here until you finish that plate. Judging from your looks, you would like me to be gone – that faster you get that down, the faster I shall be getting out of your way!"

I mechanically picked up the spoon, then paused as a thought hit me.

"Watson asked you to make sure I ate?" I asked, forcing my voice to be devoid of the hope I had just felt.

The lady fixed me with a long look. "He did, Mr. Holmes. But I would not take that as an indication of forgiveness, if I am any judge of human nature," she said, pointedly answering my unspoken question.

Sighing, I dropped the spoon back into the bowl, my sudden appetite just as suddenly vanishing. Mrs. Hudson looked at me warningly, but I ignored her as best I could with the woman hovering over me annoyingly. My landlady had the most frustrating habit of being able to read me at times almost as well as Watson could, and I found it not a little disconcerting.

"Mr. Holmes," she began.

"Not now, Mrs. Hudson," I snapped, imperiously waving her away.

"You _will_ hear what I have to say, sir!" she said with a show of spirit I had only seen in those too-frequent moments when I accidentally (or purposely) destroyed a part of the furniture or carpet in the sitting room. I looked at her with no emotion, I hoped, that would reflect my inner turmoil.

"What is so important that you need interrupt my thoughts, Mrs. Hudson?" I queried.

"Mr. Holmes. You are acting like a child." The woman made the statement simply and emphatically, and then turned to leave. I stood from the table.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You have often bragged about your keen senses, Mr. Holmes, and I did not stutter. You - are - acting - childishly. And it is high time someone told you."

"Mrs. Hudson!"

"Oh, do stop it with the martyred air, Mr. Holmes. Sit down, and I am going to tell you something." Nonplussed by this unexpected fire in the form of a miffed landlady, I did the only respectable thing.

I sat.

"Sir, you've hurt the Doctor very, very deeply," her voice softened as she said the words I already knew.

"I know that, Mrs. Hudson, but I cannot for the life of me figure out why," I said, frowning.

"Perhaps you should apply those deductive powers you are so fond of to that problem, instead of focusing on yourself," the woman declared.

"I am certainly not focusing on myself!"

"You most certainly are. You have been sitting here since the Doctor left wondering what was wrong with what you did."

"Well?"

"_Well_, you should be trying to deduce what could have brought about such a drastic reaction from him," she replied, "and if you cannot solve that problem, then you certainly do not deserve the high praise the Doctor continues to give you for your faculties."

Having startled me with her advice, the woman swept out of the room, closing the door behind her with considerably less force than Watson had earlier.

I let out a deep breath and got up to find and light my pipe. Why then had I provoked such a reaction from Watson?

As if in answer, pieces of the day's events and conversations began to come back to my mind, all of them swirling around in a whirlpool of confusion.

_If I am to be forced to have a doctor, at least let me have one in whom I have some confidence! - - You, a doctor! You are enough to drive a patient into an asylum! - - Limited experience, and mediocre qualifications. - - Good heavens, I had completely forgotten him!_

I cringed at the remembrances. Had I really said all that?

Yes, all that and more.

I finally hit on the idea of putting myself into Watson's place and considering what I should have done had our roles been reversed. Again I winced mentally as I realized what I had said.

_Don't budge, whatever happens. Whatever happens, do you hear?_ With a start, I realized that had been one of the worst things. I had forced him to remain there, in an uncomfortable position for one thing, and listen to that madman go on and on about how he had killed me and was proud of the fact. He had had to sit there and think that he was listening to me die. And toward the end, he had to remain motionless, because he had given me his word, thinking that he would never even get to say goodbye to me.

If our positions had been reversed, I would have killed him for doing that to me.

And that was the main reason he had blown up in my face afterwards. It was of no wonder.

I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. What had I done?

_How DARE you, Holmes?_ Watson's accusation rang in my ears once more. He was quite right. How dare I take him for granted? The fact that when I am on a case I think of nothing else did nothing to excuse me from the blame. I was wrong, wholly, completely wrong for doing what I did to him.

_The next time you need an errand boy, I hope you are able to find one in whom you have some confidence!_ That was another part of it. He thought I was merely using him as a messenger.

Not so – he was the only one I trusted enough for the job! Smith was no easy man to get in to see, and I knew only Watson would have the tenacity and the concern for me to force our quarry to talk to him, whether the man wanted to or not. But evidently Watson did not know that I thought that.

_How could he, if you didn't tell him anything?_ The voice of my conscience said scornfully. _The least you could have done was tell him once he got back from Smith's house. But no, you had to have the maximum melodrama possible, didn't you?_

_There are more important things in life than your precious cases!_ In that instant, I knew I had hit upon the real issue. And it took no great deduction to see why Watson had reacted that way.

It was partly the fact that he felt I no longer trusted him, and partly the fact that he thought I had merely used him as an instrument to accomplish my own means.

But it was mostly the fact that he thought I did not _**care**_ that I had done so.

And with that realization, the sickening sense of what I had really done swept over me with a wave of guilt. And I realized that I did care, very much so indeed. What had I been thinking?

As soon as that revelation had dawned on me, I pulled my raging emotions into a tight hold and, for the first time since this sordid drama had started, I felt myself again. Striding to the door, I opened it, prepared to bellow for Mrs. Hudson –

Only to find the woman herself waiting outside the door, looking at me with no repentance whatsoever for her impertinence.

"It certainly took you long enough, Mr. Holmes," she said, sweeping past my astonished looks into the room, "powers of deduction, indeed!"

I stifled a rueful laugh, not wanting to give her the satisfaction, and came back over to the table.

"You are going nowhere until you have a good meal, Mr. Holmes," the extraordinary woman stated.

"Mrs. Hudson, you truly are a marvel. Pray tell me how you deduced that I intend to go out?" I asked, my tone lightening considerably from earlier.

She gave a disdainful sniff and turned to leave. "I shall order you a cab, Mr. Holmes," she said as she exited the room.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," I called after her. _For more than you realize,_ I finished the thought in my head. Then I quickly began my meal so that I could change clothes and be on my way.

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**To Be Concluded - Back to Watson's POV**


	3. Love Covering All Sins

_**Love Covereth All Sins**_

Once again, I own nothing. Not even the rain. (_sniff_) **_KCS__

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WOOHOO! Passed all my finals, thank the Lord!

Here's the final edit of the chapter - Tea so far for VHunter07 and clevergirl - milk and sugar, anyone?_

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Proverbs 10:12_ "...love covereth all sins."_

A free cup of Mrs. Hudson's tea to any of you chaps who can spot the hidden Bible verse!

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_"Good heavens!" cried Holmes. "I had totally forgotten him. My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. To think that I should have overlooked you! I need not introduce you to Mr. Culverton Smith, since I understand that you met somewhat earlier in the evening."_

_-The Adventure of the Dying Detective

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_(Watson's Point of View)_

The rain was pouring down in sheets so thick that, even had I an umbrella, I would soon have been soaked to the skin. The grey, depressing atmosphere matched perfectly my despondent, shamed mood. What was I thinking, going over the top like that with Holmes?

The man could be infuriating, annoying, exasperating – yet he was my friend, my dearest friend. How could I have said such things? _"If you weren't such a pathetic, empty, selfish – **machine**..." _rang still in my ears even as it had during the moments following my utterance of the words. What in the world had gotten into me?

I knew my Holmes well enough to know that, once engaged on a case, he remained blissfully unaware of the world around him, including me. It was not intentional; that simply was what happened when he was on a case. And obviously this had been no ordinary case. Even through my anguish, hidden behind the head of Holmes's bed, I still had heard enough to understand that much. If Smith was really that dangerous, then Holmes's actions, no matter what I thought of them personally, had to have been justifiable.

I should be used to his ways by now. How dare I say such things to him, knowing that he never truly intended to hurt me? I had flown off the handle without a moment's hesitation to think of the consequences of my actions.

I have always been a believer in justice and fair play – where was the justice in not allowing Holmes a chance to defend himself? Why had I not let him have a chance to explain what I assumed were good reasons for his atrocious conduct? Even a criminal deserves a chance to defend himself – and I had not even extended that courtesy to my best friend.

What kind of a friend _was_ I, anyway?

A sudden flood of water sloshed off an awning, hitting me in the face and drenching what little of me had previously been dry. I shivered, half from the cold and half from the knowledge that I had behaved quite abominably to the one person whose opinion I valued above all others.

Chilled to the bone, I contemplated calling a cab but then realized that I had left in such a hurry from my surgery that morning in answer to Mrs. Hudson's frantic summons that I had left my wallet behind. I'd had just barely enough fare to get to Culverton Smith's and back.

As I walked, growing more cold by the moment, I suddenly came to a decision and spun around. I could not let the sun go down on my anger with Holmes, and the man definitely deserved a deep apology from me.

I headed back in the direction from which I had come, intent on returning to Baker Street and trying to salvage what might remain of the friendship I had done my best to destroy.

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_(Holmes's Point of View)_

I sat in the cab, trying to shield my face from the sheets of rain coming in at an almost horizontal angle, wishing to heaven I had not carried my deception for Culverton Smith quite so far. Despite one of Mrs. Hudson's good soups and some scones, I still felt rather weak and willed the cab to go faster, wishing fervently to be out of these inclement conditions.

Still, I had no one to blame but myself. My heartless conduct had driven Watson out in the same weather, and the responsibility would be completely on my shoulders were we both to catch pneumonia from the night's excursions.

I hoped fervently that Watson had had the sense to get a cab and not walk all the way back to Kensington in such a storm – he could be most stubborn at times and I hoped this was not one of them.

Shivering, I was drawing my ulster closer about me when I saw the man himself. Poor Watson! He looked as if he had been standing directly under a gutter-spout. Drenched from head to foot, he was fighting his way back through the storm in my direction.

I sighed quietly as it took no great deduction to see from his miserable expression that he was on his way back to my rooms to apologize to me. I rapped sharply on the roof of the cab and jumped out to meet him as he struggled down the pavement.

"Watson!" I called sharply over the storm.

He looked up at the sound of my voice, and the momentary relief I saw flood his face soon was replaced by a look of extreme embarrassment. But now was not the time or place for either of us to give way to emotional explanations.

"You look as if you jumped into the Thames, my dear chap," I said, taking his arm and nearly pushing him into the waiting cab. The surprised look on his face at my unexpected gesture was priceless and I shall long remember it fondly.

I jumped in after him and banged once more on the roof. "Back to Baker Street, Cabbie!" I shouted above the rain.

"Holmes –" he began uncomfortably, and then looking at me, he changed what he was going to say. "You shouldn't be out in this, in your weakened condition."

"Nor should you, my dear fellow," I replied, "I could see your limp from down the street. Why in heaven's name didn't you order a cab?"

"I used the last change in my pocket to get back to Baker Street ahead of Culverton Smith like you ordered me to, Holmes," he said tiredly, leaning his head back against the seat with a sigh.

Once more I was seized with a bout of remorse for my atrocious conduct. I said a fervent prayer that neither of us would catch our deaths of cold before we had a chance to put a better end on this escapade.

Watson's eyes closed and my own stared moodily out at the pouring rain. It was with great relief that I saw the street sign for Baker Street a few minutes later. Within seconds, we were pulling up in front of 221b and I jumped down, threw the cabbie a sovereign, and fumbled in my ulster for my keys.

By unspoken agreement, Watson descended, a little more stiffly, and I noticed with a pang that he was indeed limping, the sure sign of a strained and painful day. One that I had done nothing but make worse.

I finally found the key but before I could open the door, Mrs. Hudson had swung it wide and the warm, inviting glow of the hall lamp filled the dreary evening with a welcoming pool of light.

"Good gracious, Mr. Holmes! Get in here before you flood the hall!" she exclaimed, stepping back to allow me passage. "Oh, it's good to see you back too, Doctor. I was worried when you started off without a cab," she went on, tactfully refraining from any personal comments.

I noticed as Watson handed her his coat that he had begun to shiver uncontrollably and I propelled him rather forcefully up the stairs into the sitting room. It was proof of how exhausted he really was that he offered not even a weak remonstrance to my ministrations.

In the doorway, we both stopped and stared in some surprise for a moment at the scene before us.

Beside the blazing fire Mrs. Hudson had put two of my dressing gowns and two pairs of slippers. And on the sideboard, a steaming pot of tea and two cups awaited us. I cleared my throat rather pointlessly and grinned at Watson.

"That woman is far sharper than she lets on, isn't she?" he responded to my unsaid comment, his tired eyes regaining a slight bit of their usual twinkle.

I shook my head ruefully. "She certainly is," I agreed, helping Watson off with his sopping jacket and throwing a warm dressing gown over his shoulders, "you should have heard the right proper dressing-down she gave me after you left today."

He colored at the remembrance but stopped and looked at me. "_Mrs. Hudson_ gave you a lecture?"

"I should certainly say so," I snorted, putting on my slippers and tying my belt, "_Mr. Holmes. You are behaving like a child._ And that was only the beginning!"

I was rewarded with a snort of laughter from my friend as I poured a steaming cup of tea from the pot, put milk in it as I knew he always took it, and handed him the cup.

"Watch it, it's boiling hot," I said, swearing under my breath as I burned my fingers.

"Sherlock Holmes, Master Deducer of the obvious," Watson muttered, collapsing into his chair by the fire. I sniggered – he did not realize I had heard him. I was relieved to see that he had stopped shivering so violently when once divested of his soaked outerwear.

I took my own cup and sat down in my usual chair across from him. And for a moment, there was an extremely awkward silence.

One that I knew it was my responsibility to break.

I cleared my throat and opened my mouth, but evidently Watson had the same idea, for we said each other's names at the same time.

"Watson?"

"Holmes?"

We both laughed a little awkwardly, and then I hastened on before he could.

"Let me finish, Watson. I – have done a lot of thinking in the past hour." I got up and nervously fumbled to light my pipe, trying to think of what I had previously planned to say. I never had been good at this sort of thing. After trying to cogitate what I had scripted for my apology and failing miserably, I threw all precautions to the wind and just spoke from my heart and not my head for once.

"And, I have come to a realization that – everything you said today – was completely true."

He dropped his teacup with a clatter onto the saucer.

"Holmes, that's not even _close_ to being an accurate statement."

"I'm not through yet, Watson. And it _was_ true, all of it. I – was – quite thoughtless. And – and I have nothing to say that will even come close to excusing my atrocious behavior. Since I cannot excuse or even explain what I did,"

I hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, and continued, "I can only ask for your forgiveness. I know I do not and never will deserve it for the havoc I have wreaked today, but I ask it just the same. Can you ever forgive me, my dear fellow?"

He was looking down at his teacup, and I could not tell if his face was flushed from embarrassment or from the heat of the inferno Mrs. Hudson had created in our fireplace.

For a moment neither of us moved, and I was actually fearful that he was not going to acknowledge my apology. Which was no more than I deserved, I knew. Then he cleared his throat and stood to face me on eye level.

"What I said was wrong, Holmes, and nothing you can say will change that. I was abominably rude, inexcusably so, and I gave you not even a chance to explain your actions. I too am dreadfully sorry," he finally looked me in the eyes as he spoke, and I could see that he had indeed already forgiven me, as only a true friend like he would.

"We shall exchange forgivenesses, then," I said quietly.

A throat clearing behind us made us both turn round.

"May I assume you will be staying for a late supper, Doctor?" Mrs. Hudson asked serenely.

And we both looked at each other and gave vent to a full-fledged laugh, the first we had shared in quite a while.

Explanations would be given, and we would have some serious discussion to do to rectify the errors we had made, but I knew just then that it would take more than my foolish, selfish actions to destroy whatever that elusive quality might be that prompts Watson to so readily forgive and forget. Please God, I will never make such a mistake as this again.

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**Ta da! Please, please review!**


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